Heal
by RomanticizedRebel
Summary: After being missing for 5 months, Tony is returned to Ziva. Now, she must help him heal. AU - Ziva came back, but not to NCIS. Tiva. Oneshot.


**_ Just a oneshot. Reviews are appreciated!_**

**_(What I was listening to) Run _**_by Kill it Kid_

The room was dark, and the unforgiving concrete was dirty. Anthony DiNozzo, Jr., lay crumpled the corner, having been cast aside like trash. He huddled in what little clothing one particularly benevolent captor had brought to him.

_"Do you always have to be naked?" The ogre snarled, throwing a pair of jeans at him._

At the time, it hadn't occurred to Tony then that his lack of clothing was through no choice of his own. However, a few hours later as he leaned against the wall, enjoying an especially generous feast of Wonderbread, it did.

Then, he realized something else: His wrists were no longer bound. His captors, arrogant bastards that they were, no longer felt the urge to cuff him. They thought that they had broken him to the point where he would not run.

_Fuck them._

An amount of determination he did not know he still possessed surged through him, and he shakily staggered to his feet.

Then the world shifted.

_Whoa_.

He pitched against the wall as vertigo rushed through him.

Once the earth had righted, he took a tentative step forward, followed by another as he struggled to remember how to balance. Had they shot him up with something? He couldn't remember, but he felt hinky. But then, most of the world was hinky anyway, and he had managed to save Atlas in the sewers with drugs in his system years ago.

_Atlas_.

_The marine._

_The Titan who held the weight of the world on his shoulders._

Tony could empathize.

His feet were bare, and the ground solid, so it was a simple matter to ensure that his steps were silent. Less simple was the cold. Even within the halls of whatever… compound this was, his breath fogged as it hit the air.

He stopped. It was warm when he was brought to this place- How long had it been? Weeks, months? Hell, it felt like years. Would his teammates remember him? And his boss- the silvery-haired man of steel- had he found another Tony? A new person to watch his six? He must have. Gibbs had Tony's six and Tony had his, but Tony was here so he couldn't be there having Gibb's six. So he needed a new six-watcher. Maybe McGee- McGee could watch sixes. Not a probie anymore… Oh, God, Ziva. Had she forgotten him? Moved on. Maybe she wouldn't want him anymore. Maybe-

_Stop_, he told himself. _Just get out of here. The rest can wait_. He moved again, more quickly.

Then, he froze, like a deer in headlights.

_Will it be my head on the wall? _

A guard was standing in the doorway- The way out. Tony would have to take him.

He crept further forward, analyzing his target. Short, not overly muscly. Jeans and a hoodie. Boots. A gun in a holster, and a knife in his back pocket. A knife. Gold. Slinking around the corner, he drew closer, silently, stealthily like a cheetah stalking their prey on Animal Planet…

_I am the cheetah_, He thought, _and_ _he is the gazelle. Cheetah beats gazelle, cheetah gets to go home. I will go home._

_Go for the jugular. _

Without another sound, he sprang. The gazelle turned around to fight, hand going towards his gun, but it was too late. Tony pulled the knife out of the thigh holster and dragged it across the guard's neck. A long, thick red line appeared on his throat- like a gruesome smile.

But the guard wasn't smiling.

_Why so serious? _

The guard sank to his knees, hands clutched to his throat and Tony snatched the man's gun before it dropped- no noise. Just in case. Remembering that he was cold, and made quick work of pulling off the guard's hoodie. There was only a little blood on the collar.

Then, he looked around. Where did he go next?

_Be like the cheetah. Run._

And so he did, fueled by adrenalin and desperation. He sprinted out along the dark road ahead of him with a level of speed he did not know he still possessed, forcing himself not to look back.

-AU-

**Someday the Rains Will Fall** by John Mellencamp

Ziva's cell phone buzzed in her pocket. She had it up to her ear in less than a second, much like she had for the past five months. "Shalom?"

"Ziver?" a familiar voice came over the phone, "Come to NCIS."

Ziva's heart plummeted to the floor, her head spun, and her stomach made a valiant attempt at climbing its way out of her throat. "Is everything alright?" she demanded, praying for it to be so with every filament of her being.

There was a short pause, but it seemed like an eternity to her. She headed for the elevator, cursing her functional mute of a surrogate father and his measured words. "Gibbs? What is happening?"

"DiNozzo's back. The assignment's over."

"_Baruch atah adonai eloheinu melech ha'olam, hatov vhameitiv_," she breathed out as she sank gracelessly onto the railing of the lift. Gibbs did not comment on the outburst, understanding the sentiment even without knowing Hebrew. "Is he alright? What happened to him?"

"Classified, Ziver-"

"Harah, Gibbs! Is he alright?"

"You know how ops go-"

"No, I do not know, Gibbs-" she cut him off, voice shaking with anger. "I am not an agent anymore, and I have no way of knowing the physical condition of my husband _unless you tell me_."

There was a brief pause, and then, "Sorry, Ziver."

"No apologizing. Only if he is dead."

Gibbs did not argue with that, and took a moment to select his words. "He has busted ribs," he stated. "A whole bunch of stitches. Ducky took care of it." There was a brief pause, during which the elevator reached the bottom floor. Ziva ran out, ignoring the stares of her neighbors who were waiting for it. "Other injuries, not life-threatening."

"Was he tortured?" She already knew the answer to that question, but she could still hope.

There was a long sigh. "Since he disappeared."

She sucked in a sharp breath. He had gone missing after a month of undercover work- so it was four months that he was tortured. Longer than she was in the Somalian hellhole. Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away. "I… I think I understand now how he felt, Gibbs."

"At least you had hope, Ziver," Gibbs mused back, understanding her reference to Somalia. "He thought for sure that you were dead."

And that was true. Over the years, she had heard stories, from the team and Tony, of alcohol-riddled nights and days where it seemed he was only going through the motions of being alive. How one fateful day in the bullpen when Gibbs called he and McGee to grab their gear, he stood up and uttered a simple "No."

One night in their apartment when several glasses of wine had loosened his tongue, Tony had said something that stuck with her.

_"It's a good thing I'm older, Zee. It'll be better if I die first."_

_That disturbed her, and she had turned from her comfortable position in his arms to gauge his expression. His green eyes were troubled, but lucid enough. "Why do you say that?" she asked gently._

_"Already tried the alternative. Didn't work out so well."_

Right after Tony went missing, she asked Vance to reinstate her as an agent to help search for Tony. Vance refused her, saying that he could not because the situation was personal, but Ziva suspected that Gibbs had a part in it as well: He did not want a repeat performance of Tony's bloodthirsty quest for vengeance. She had seen his resolve to get revenge on her behalf, and learned that he did not intend to return from Somalia.

Gibbs seemed to know exactly what was going through her head, as he always did, and in a soft rumble reassured her. "I told you we'd find him, Ziver."

"Yes. Toda, Gibbs." She murmured back. "How is he, mentally?"

"He looks a lot you did." Her heart twisted- she remembered that feeling. She remembered the utter devastation and uncertainty she felt all too well. Again, Gibbs seemed to know what she was thinking and reassured her. "Difference is that he has you. You know what he's going through."

"I do… Have you spoken with Senior?"

There was a long pause. "McGee called. He didn't pick up."

Ziva sighed, disappointed, but not surprised.

A week after Tony disappeared, Senior showed up, having been contacted by the Gibbs due to the fact that he was not listed as Tony's next of kin. He wanted to aid the search, even though he had no idea of the details surrounding his son's disappearance, and offered both money, which he had recently come into, and his connections. Though Gibbs and NCIS declined, stating that they were federally funded and unfortunately, could not accept civilian help in the situation, Senior hung around at the Adam's House Hotel. He would drop in, bringing food for the team and spend time with Ziva. As always, a mysterious call came in and Senior left in pursuit of whatever new source of income he had found. Gibbs could not say that he was surprised, but Tony's father at least had the decency to keep in touch, calling almost daily.

As weeks and then months passed, the number of calls dwindled to intermittent. Even then, he rarely contacted anyone other than Ziva. Gibbs did not pay much mind to it- Senior was Senior, regardless of the circumstances, and Gibbs did not have time to worry about his second's father when his second was MIA.

Then, shortly after the three and a half-month point, Senior showed up in the basement, making his usual apologies and pleasantries. Gibbs did not stop working through the artful oration; continuing to read through the files to look for something; anything that might offer a lead, only offering noncommittal grunts as replies. After he had effectively excused his lack of presence, he sat on the edge of the worktable and glanced over the stacked files and papers strewn about before getting down to business.

_"Gibbs, though I wasn't always the best father, I loved my son. I am sure that you care deeply too-"_

_"And you think we should have him declared presumably dead." Gibbs cut him off. _

_Senior flinched almost imperceptibly, but quickly schooled his expression with an aristocratically raised eyebrow. "How did you know?"_

_Gibbs turned a hard glare on him. "Because you're already using past tense."_

_"Look, hard as it is it seems logical that-"_

_"I don't know what your endgame is here," Gibbs cut him off again, "or why it is that you want the search for your son, whom you claim to love, but I'll tell you this: Not until I find the body."_

He didn't keep up contact after with that, even with Ziva, which was fine with Gibbs. The only thing that stopped him years before, when he first met Tony's father, and now, when the man suggested that he, Leroy Jethro Gibbs, might give up, was that he knew his SFA cared for the man. Although, when he told Ziva the story and watched her face crumble, he wished that he had.

Gibbs and Ziva both contemplated the situation for a moment, and then Gibbs cleared his throat. "Tony's made it without his father before. He's better off."

"He has a better one," Ziva added. Gibbs did not answer, but she knew that her comment had struck him. She closed the phone and focused her attention on the passing white lines of the highway as she heavily exceeded the speed limit.

-AU-

**_I Think It's Going To Rain Today _**_by __**Tom Odell**_

Ziva passed through the NCIS lobby without interruption as the youngest member of Team Gibbs, Bishop, flashed her badge to the guard and slipped her a visitor's tag. They hustled into the elevator. Thankfully, Bishop had abandoned her awkward demeanor just long enough to know not to try and offer words of solace or reassurance to Ziva.

As the elevator doors opened, Ziva burst out into the squad room, knocking aside several people.

And there he was.

Before she realized it, she flung herself at him, wrapping him in the fiercest embrace that she ever had. He wrapped his arms around her just as tightly, and they stood, rocking slightly as the tidal waves of emotion at their reunion coursed through them. Ziva's head rested on his shoulder, and his tucked down into her hair. "_Barukh ata Adonai Eloheinu, melekh ha'olam, hagomel lahayavim tovot, sheg'molani kol tov_," she whispered in his ear as she pressed kisses into his cheek. "_Ani Ohev Oktah_, Tony. _Ani Ohev Oktah_."

He did not respond in any way but holding her tighter.

Eventually, Ziva looked up. Ellie was sitting cross-legged on her desk, crying into her hands. McGee had his arm around her in an obvious attempt to console her, however, it seemed that the tears in his own eyes were close to welling over. Abby was wrapped in Gibb's arms, making no attempt to hide her own sobs.

And Gibbs…

The man's face gave nothing away, but his blue eyes screamed sorrow. They drifted from hers to Tony and back to her, assessing them both. Then, decision made, he shifted Abby into McGee's other side and approached the couple, careful not to startle the damaged man. He laid a gentle hand on Ziva's elbow. "Let's get him home."

The trio made their way down to the parking lot, slowed by the injured party between them. Ziva pressed up into his side, and Gibbs, though he would deny it, walked far closer than he normally would. Tony, for his part, did not seem to mind- the presence of the two people closest to him was a welcome change from the past months. As they reached Ziva's red Mustang, Gibbs gave the pensive Israeli head jerk head towards the vehicle. _Give us a minute_.

She understood the sentiment and complied, giving her husband and his mentor a moment.

Gibbs put a gentle hand on Tony's shoulder, taking the slight flinch in stride. "Ziver and I've both been where you are, Tony," he said, in a tone he rarely used on anyone besides traumatized victims. "Don't push us out."

Tony was mute, his defenses and silver tongue stripped from him by what he had endured over the past five months.

_There had been no chance for him to fight, right from the beginning. One moment, he was seated at a table in the back of a seedy bar, and the next, a fist broadsided his temple. Lights out. The next moment he remembered was waking up in a concrete bunker, blood on the floor around him- his own? His body ached, his head felt like a marching band was parading through it, and to top it all off his wrists were bound behind him. Then, the torture began, never the same and never ending. It went on for weeks, and he was either too weak or too malnourished to even consider doing a thing about it. He had no idea where he was. He just had to wait for Gibbs to show up like he always did._

_But Gibbs never showed up, and the torment went on. Time passed, and his captors shouted fewer at him. Their began to waver, and he became an object of malice rather than one of interrogation. The "sessions," as he came to think of them, became fewer, but the new ones hurt more than his physical being._

As he relived the moments, Tony's eyes became glassy and his hands began to shake from their seat in his pockets.

Gibbs, seeing what was happening, tapped the back of Tony's head. "Hey, Anthony, you with me?" Tony snapped out of the trance and gave one shuddering breath before nodding an affirmation. Gibbs ran a hand down the back of Tony's unusually long locks before letting it rest on his neck, gentle as he would be with a child. "I told you once you were irreplaceable. That still stands. Understood?" While the sentiment was firm, the words were soft and comforting. Tony responded again with a nod. The heaviness of the moment weighed on them both, and Gibbs cleared his throat. "You know where to find me." He was sure that his protégée would grace his basement steps more than once in the days and weeks to come.

Gibbs, knowing that he had done what he could at the moment, walked to the driver's side of the car where Ziva was sitting. "Don't let him come in 'till ya think he's ready… I'll be by tomorrow morning. Take care of him, Ziver." He kissed her cheek and turned, heading for his truck. After five-month search, numerous dead ends, the loss of his second and comforting his "kids", bourbon was in order.

Ziva pulled out of NCIS and onto the moonlit highway that would take them home, driving considerably slower than she had done earlier. As they drove along the empty beltway, Ziva was grateful that her car was open-topped. Tony seemed to relish the air that blew over them, turning his face upward to feel the wind.

The weight he had lost in captivity made his cheekbones sharp, and he was thinner than the day she met him. The bright moonlight that shone highlighted those features. It all created a hauntingly beautiful picture that evoked pain, but also a subtle note of triumph: He had survived. How, she did not know, but he had.

Then, too close by, there was the sound of a car backfiring. Tony flinched at the unexpected sound and sunk into the seat.

Acting quickly, based on her own experiences, Ziva switched on the radio to drown out the less pleasant sounds of the city. She reached down to take his hand in hers. The prominent feel of the bones in his fingers concerned her, but she knew it best not to show she noticed.

The song that came on the radio was one she knew well, and she sang along, knowing her voice was something that he had always loved. Hopefully, the soft melody would be a welcome distraction.

_Broken windows, and empty hallways. A pale, dead moon, and a sky streaked with grey. Human kindness is overflowing, and I think it's going to rain today._

-AU-

**A Place Where Only You Can Go **by NEEDTOBREATHE

They walked into the door of their apartment, and Tony froze in the doorway. That worried her- she had thought that the familiar surroundings. "Are you alright?" She regretted the question as soon as it left her lips. Of course he was not alright- he had just been tortured extensively.

He, in turn, tried to offer her a reassuring smile. It fell short, and her heart panged painfully in her chest- Empathetic man that he was, Tony was trying to comfort her in turn. "Tony," she reprimanded gently, "That was a stupid question- I have been where you are." She brushed her fingertips over the facial muscles he was trying to twist into a smile. "I know you are not alright." Instantly, the smile slipped away, leaving only devastation in his painfully green eyes.

Then, there was shame, and her heart hurt more. Senior had taught Tony to be ashamed of any perceived weakness, and that remained now, even when he was battered and bruised and had just been to Hell and back. "You have nothing to be ashamed of," she whispered, drawing her hand down his cheek before taking his hand and leading him into their bathroom.

As she helped him peel of his shirt and pains, her years a spy and agent came in handy- Otherwise, she did not think she would be able to disguise her reaction to his mangled torso. His midsection was completely mottled with bruises, and streaks dried blood flaked away from gashes. Fresh whip marks wrapped around his hip, and three cuts were stitched shut, taped over with waterproof bandages. There were raised scars from methodic slashing down his left side.

Needing to divert her attention, she turned on the shower to medium-warm water and gently prompted him to get in. It was quickly apparent that he would stand there, staring at the wall until the water ran cold. While she had done the same a few times herself, she did not think that was what he needed at the moment. Quickly, she shed her own clothes and followed him in.

He watched as she squirted gentle soap onto a washcloth and began wiping away the layers of blood and grime. It did not surprise her that he did not react as she cleaned some of the more damaged parts of his body- her pain tolerance after returning from Somalia had been very high as well.

Still, that did not stop her from being gentle.

After his body was clean, she guided him down so that he was seated, back to the spray and began to work a large dollop of shampoo through his brown hair. Copious amounts of dirt and blood swirled down the drain until finally, soft, clean strands emerged. Once she finished, she grabbed two towels and dried them both before retrieving two sets of clothes from their closet.

The sight she saw at her return was a sad one- he was in front of the mirror, eyes tracing his mangled body and prominent bones. Now that he was clean, the full extent of what had been done to him was visible. She quickly turned him away from his own image to look into her eyes. "It will get better with time, and-" she let the side of her towel slip, revealing faded scars on her ribcage, "you have always said that my scars make me more beautiful. The same applies for you."

He nodded and accepted the clothes she gave him.

Once they were dressed, she led them back towards their bedroom. It felt strange, in a sense- she had not slept there since the day he left for his mission. It somehow did not seem right, given that she was safe when he was not. It seemed unusually cold as she pulled back the covers for him.

After he was in bed, she joined him, and pulled the comforter over the both of them. "Rest, ahuvi. It will do you well." She put a hand on his cheek, and he nuzzled into her palm. A sad smile crossed her lips as she shifted herself closer to him, so that their bodies faced each other in the bed. She interlaced their fingers.

Several minutes passed in the dark, with their breathing being the only sound in the room, but she knew instinctively that he was not asleep. Curiosity got the better of her, and her whisper cut into the silence. "I know you may not be able to tell me, and I understand if you can't, but… Who tipped off NCIS to where you were?" There was only silence, and she berated herself – he had been silent for the better part of the night. She should not have prompted him to speak. "Never mind."

"-Nothing," he surprised her by responding a few seconds later, voice cracking with little usage and damage.

Her brow furrowed, and he clarified. "I got away."

"After all this time?"

"An opportunity arose while I was mostly lucid, and I took it."

Her breath caught in her throat. "And you never gave up?"

"Never."

"How?" she whispered back, her mind wondering back to the state that she had been in when she was rescued. She had long since been broken, and was waiting for death- he had been tortured longer. How had he managed?

There was quiet, and she felt his grasp tighten minutely on hers. "Because I knew I had you."

Tears sprang to her eyes, and she leaned forward, pressing a harsh kiss to his temple. Her fingers tangled in his hair. They intertwined closer then, any space between them filled by their bodies. His head came to rest against her shoulder. Then, she felt tears dampen her skin. "It was bad," he shuddered against her, "it was really, really bad."

She knew what resisting torture did to a person- it crushed their dignity, their strength, their hope, their sense of freedom. Their ability to smile- God, it had taken her a long time to smile again. So, she drew her hands up and down his back and pressed a gentle kiss onto his ear. "You are not alone, Tony. You are not alone."


End file.
